In literary theory, the chronotope is how a moment in time and space collide through language.

Existence As Revolutionary Praxis

it’s sunday morning and they’re coming
for our lives again. i don’t want to

have a conversation. i don’t want
to move the needle. give me a heavy

blade and a chopping block. give me
round bombs and party favors.

the T-blockers taste like mint.
i never liked the taste of mint before.

i’ve never been so good at taking
pills. day three HRT and i can

swallow these dry. i didn’t
search for so long just to die.

out of the closet, out of the cave.
the sun is so bright i’m

screaming. you will not choke me
before i get a chance to breathe.

you will not erase me, make me
a ghost before i get to live.

the primal lunar love

The Woman at the Laundromat Says I Need Two More Hands